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My children came home from school Friday afternoon.

We laughed, ate, played, and ate some more at our big family Christmas party all day Saturday.

They joined 13 others in the church Christmas program yesterday morning, belting out Mary Had a Baby. I nearly didn’t have enough tissues.

The day-to-day is blog worthy. They came home. We laughed. They sang. Every ordinary thing, suddenly again extraordinary.

The Finer mundane Things, all a miracle. All a gift.

Yes. Sandy Hook could happen to any of us, but I will not live in fear. I will simply live.

I will scrub toilets and fold laundry. I will scrape dried pancake batter off of the kitchen counter. I will make to-do lists, both to focus my day and to celebrate the fact that in my spinning of the wheels I really do get something done.

I will grin, walking briskly home from the post office, when the postman offers to bring my packages to the house when he gets off of work. I will recognize and celebrate the good that is all around.

I will change diapers and cut up supper for little mouths. I will scramble in the last week of Christmas to make it all imperfectly perfect, wrapping secrets and baking cookies.

But, what else?

I will (and have already) snap impatience. I will scold, and likely pout. I will sigh when nap times don’t coincide. I am a mess.

There is also this.

I will hug more and give undivided attention. Will giggle instead of “Knock it off” when they tickle. Will sing along at bedtime, making sure we end the day right.

But it won’t be perfect. Because it’s life. And I’m gratefully, imperfectly living it.

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